


Hunting the Wolf

by RedEris



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:25:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/pseuds/RedEris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samhal Lavellan does not make appeals to the heart.  He's much more interested in other organs.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Little Fox, you hunt something far more dangerous than you know.”  As Solas spoke the words and heard the growl in them, he cursed himself for a fool. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Samhal laughed, puffing herb-scented breath against Solas’ face.  “Ah, but the fox has flushed out his quarry at last.  I knew it was a predator behind those eyes, thou meek hermit.  But come, hunter, don’t you see?”  He twisted his head, lifting his chin.  His pulse fluttered visibly beneath the skin.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I want to be eaten.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This is a chapter from my story Little Fox. As such, it contains minor spoilers for that story, but nothing too major. I'm posting it separately as well because I feel that there's a sad shortage of Solas/male Lavellan fic out there, and not everyone wants to read a long story. It should, I think, stand up fine and not be confusing on its own.

Varric sat tenderly buffing the day’s scratches out of Bianca’s arms as Samhal sprawled on the powdery winter grass next to him, watching the edges of the clouds turn pink.

“So, Fox, you…uh…what about your family? I mean, you had family in the clan, right?”

“Are they family if they watch you leave and don’t say anything? No, no family.”

Varric grunted and rotated Bianca to get at a different side of the arms. Samhal continued to contemplate the sky.

“You know, I don’t mean to butt in, but it’s not always that simple. Family, I mean. I should know.”

“Simple enough for me. I’m on my own and I don’t have to worry about anyone else’s shit. Well, didn’t.”

“Just thinking that if you have any family, they might be pretty damn worried about you right now.”

“Well it’s a lot too late to do me any good, isn’t it?”

“Fair enough. Not my business.”

Samhal reverted to silence as Varric began to carefully work oil into Bianca’s stock. After a few more moments’ silence, Solas appeared around the edge of the nearest tent.

“Lethallin, should you wish it, I thought we might spend some time in lessons?”

Samhal twisted his head back to regard the other elf.

“Yeah? Okay, yeah.” He rolled smoothly to a crouch and stood with a slight bounce. “Let’s go. What’s today?”

The two mages began to move out of camp, but Varric still heard Solas reply, “I thought it wise to spend some time on defending yourself when, for whatever reason, your magical reserves are depleted.”

Varric just caught Samhal’s “Ah, fuck” before the pair moved out of conversation range.

Outside of camp, the two squared up, staves in hand. Varric watched them, Solas gesturing calmly, Samhal adjusting grip and stance accordingly. They held their staves crossed between them, bladed ends forward. At first they moved slowly—Solas tapped Samhal’s staff just off point, swiveling slightly to push the pointed end of his own weapon up towards Samhal’s face. He repeated the action several times, and then Samhal tried, awkwardly at first, but with a little more panache after a few tries.

Bit by bit, Solas added attacks and counters and Samhal picked them up with a dancer’s grace. Soon, the two were moving more and more fluidly through a pattern of strikes, twists, and thrusts, the clacking of their staves almost musical, their bodies ducking and swaying in the twilight. Varric sensed a presence beside him and glanced over to see Scout Harding watching the sparring as well. 

In Varric’s moment of distraction there was a surprised shout and a clatter, and when he looked back, Samhal was on the ground, Solas standing over him hand extended. Samhal took the hand, and both men pulled. They ended up bare inches apart, Samhal’s face turned up slightly and Solas looking down, startled. Samhal’s look of surprise disappeared quickly, replaced by that vulpine grin that meant nothing but trouble. Solas tensed and stepped back lightly, head turning to the side, before bringing his staff up again. Samhal picked up his staff and spun showily, twirling the weapon end over end, before falling into stance. The corners of Varric’s mouth drew together slightly and he darted a look at Harding, but her face was blank.

Twice more they repeated the sequence of strikes and counters, but on the third pass Samhal introduced a quick flick that pulled Solas’ staff out of his hands. In a flash, he was on Solas, and then behind him, staff held across Solas’ chest. And Solas _laughed_ and twisted, heaved, and the staff went flying, both men rolling. Varric thought he saw a split second where Solas could have pinned the smaller man, began the motion even, but then let it pass, and a moment later Samhal was on top, sitting on Solas’ chest and crowing.

Solas accepted his loss with a small smile, holding up his hands in surrender. Samhal braced his hands on Solas’ chest and pushed playfully, holding himself over the other man for, Varric thought, perhaps just a moment longer than strictly called for. Ahh. Well. 

Then Samhal sprang up and the tableau was broken, the intimacy vanished as Samhal mocked, loud and suddenly boyish, “Got you, _ha’hren_. Getting _stiff_ in your old age?” Solas’ reply was inaudible, but as the two turned back towards camp and dinner, both were smiling.

…………………………

The tent flap drew back and Samhal crawled in with a sinuous deliberation that was all the warning Solas needed. He could feel his pulse ticking upwards despite himself. 

Samhal slid out of his heavy coat and shrugged off the cotton undershirt, baring dark skin and the pale vallaslin that ran down onto his sternum. He stretched luxuriously and rolled his shoulders.

“Creators, it feels good to take that off and not freeze to death. I hate the south. Fuck winter.” His tone was not quite casual, laced with the promise of something else.

Samhal was quiet for a moment, tidying his gear off to one side.

“You let me win. If you wanted me on top so bad, you could just ask. I know you know that. Or maybe you want to be on top, is that it? That can be accommodated, believe me.”

“Lethallin, stop. It is unwise.” Solas drew a steadying breath.

“Why? What…ohhh! You think I’ll fall for you? You think my brain goes where my dick leads? Don’t flatter yourself.”

Something unknotted in Solas’ chest—he grasped after the ends but they slipped through his fingers. He searched his mind for other mooring lines to hold him against the tide.

“And your reputation? It would be wiser not to be seen favoring another elf, another mage.”

“Why, are you going to howl?” Samhal rolled forward onto hands and knees, voice low and teasing. “I know you want it, don’t think I can’t tell. I can be quiet if you can. I can be quiet as a kitten’s purr. If I have to, I mean. But you must know I’m rather proud of my…reputation.” 

With each sentence he drew closer, arching forward until his chest hovered above Solas’ blanket, his breath whispering on the other elf’s lips, his knee nudging the other man’s hip. Solas closed his eyes in search of composure and found only the heat of Samhal’s body above him.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t imagined it. How does it go in your head? Do you see these lips wrapped around you, sucking hungrily? Do you fold me in half so that you can see me gasp and pant as you take me? Or am I on my knees with your hands in my hair as you fuck me from behind, like a hound? Or should I say wolf?” He raised a hand to trace the jawbone that had fallen into the hollow of Solas’ shoulder. A stray finger along skin made the muscle there jump.

“Little Fox, you hunt something far more dangerous than you know.” As he spoke the words and heard the growl in them, he cursed himself for a fool. 

Samhal laughed, puffing herb-scented breath against Solas’ face. “Ah, but the fox has flushed out his quarry at last. I knew it was a predator behind those eyes, thou meek hermit. When you picture us, do I cower and bare my neck? Do you bite me to hold me still as you make me yours? Do you fill me and mark me with your scent so that I will not stray?” His voice lowered again, a bare whisper now. “But come, hunter, don’t you see?” He twisted his head, lifting his chin. His pulse fluttered visibly beneath the skin.

“I want to be eaten.”

The smaller man held perfectly still, his bowed body a blatant invitation, neither forcing nor retreating. Solas watched that fluttering pulse for a few beats longer, weighted by history and solitude. The shadow of a tree branch swayed slowly over the canvas, and an owl hooted in the middle distance. The sentries met at the end of their circuit and shared low, indistinct words. Slowly, slowly, he brought up a hand to tangle in red hair. Slowly he raised his head. And then, with an almost inaudible growl, he bit, sharp and hard, just short of marking where armor would not cover.

Solas rolled his body up and over, pulling Samhal with him, until they were flipped, the smaller man pinned underneath. Samhal smiled up triumphantly, chest rising and falling fast.

“It is not only sex you seek. You want to have the choices taken from you. You want to be once more the toy you were when you were safe and comfortable. Am I wrong?” He ran the backs of his fingernails up Samhal’s throat, tracing the lines there, until he spread his hand to cradle the join of Samhal’s throat and jaw—just lightly, somewhere between a threat and a promise. A collar. Samhal shuddered and arched into the touch.

“I want that. And sex. Fenhedis, I need a good fucking.”

Solas smiled, slow and dangerous. For just a moment he must have looked truly feral, and Samhal swallowed hard against the restraining hand. “Then I will give you that. All of that.”

His hand tightened on Samhal’s throat for a moment, steadying him as he rolled up and to the side. He undid his lacings quickly with long, fine fingers as Samhal watched with hooded eyes. The leggings slipped off with a few efficient gestures and then he was bare, bleached to marble in the moonlight.

“Begin at the beginning, then. Please me with your mouth.” Solas leaned back on his elbows, and Samhal grinned darkly as he scrambled to take his place between the other man’s legs. For a moment he sat on his heels, smugly contemplating the man spread out before him. He reached out and ran two fingers over the tautly muscled chest, down over the lean abdomen to trace the hard ridge of muscle over Solas’ hip. He lifted his hand a bare finger’s-breadth before it reached the smooth curve of the other man’s cock. Leaning forward, Samhal bit the muscle firmly, canines denting the skin. Lips followed the route that fingers had taken until his nose nuzzled against the base of Solas’ waiting cock. It twitched at the attention, but the older man’s breathing stayed slow and even.

Samhal dragged his nose up to the tip, took a deep breath, and in one smooth, practiced motion sucked in the head and sank down on Solas’ cock until the tip was in his throat and his nose was buried in the fine curls at the base. This time he was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, but no more. Humming his satisfaction, he hollowed his cheeks and began a slow, steady rhythm, dragging the stud in his tongue along the ridge, working it back and forth just below the head.

Those long fingers carded through his hair almost tenderly for a minute before closing to tug hard at his scalp. The pain sent a frisson of arousal down his spine, and he moaned around Solas’ length, rocking his hips to chase the slight friction of his pants.

“You will have your turn,” Solas said evenly. “Finish me with your mouth. Make no sound that will be heard outside.” His hips stayed still, but his second hand came to the back of Samhal’s head, pushing down to encourage him on. Samhal growled and pushed back, scraping teeth gently along the other man’s shaft until there was room to grasp the base with a firm hand. As he began to move again, the other hand wandered over the planes of Solas’ stomach until it found his hip and dug in. He squeezed hard as hand and mouth picked up pace, working steadily. At the sound of the other man’s breath speeding up and the tightness of the hand in his hair, his hips moved restlessly.

There was little more warning than that—only an overall tightening—before Solas’ hips bucked, slightly, twice, and the thinnest whisper of a moan escaped his mouth. Samhal snatched away his hand and sank down so that the other man pulsed in his throat as he came. He stayed there, sucking gently, until Solas, spent, began to soften. Fingers released their grip and began to comb through his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. Samhal lay his cheek against the other man’s thigh and was content to let himself be petted while Solas’ breathing slowed and returned to normal.

“Well done, lethallin. It is a good beginning.”

Samhal raised his head to smile up at the other man. “A beginning, is it?”

“Do you think me in my dotage, then? I said I would give you all you wanted.” Solas sat up and Samhal rocked back onto his heels. “Lie down.” Samhal obeyed, sprawling over his bedroll. Solas knelt between his legs and made short work of his leggings, pausing a moment to smile amusedly at silky underthings before sliding them down his legs and off.

“Beautiful. Nothing you might wear could be an improvement on this.”

“I don’t know, I’m told a bit of rope”—

“I will never bind you. Do not ask it.”

Samhal subsided, face tightening slightly.

“No, lethallin, we need no ropes. You will do as I say simply because I ask it, here, won’t you?” 

Solas ran a finger up and down Samhal’s cock before wrapping his hand around it, gripping just firmly enough to make the foreskin glide over the hard core as he moved his hand along it. Samhal fumbled blindly in his pack for a moment and pulled out a corked pot, setting it within Solas’ reach. The older man smiled slightly.

“Cover your mouth.”

Samhal scowled at the face hidden in shadows above him. “I am perfectly capable of holding my tongue, and you have an awfully high opinion of your ability.”

“Cover your mouth.”

Still scowling, Samhal obeyed. As his hand closed over his mouth, he felt the lightest tug on the Veil, and then suddenly he was arching back, heels scrabbling against the blankets, fist muffling a strangled cry. After a moment, Solas pulled his hand away, fingertips dragging the incredible hot-cold-tingling sensation across Samhal’s stomach, over a hip bone, and down the curve of one thigh before teasing upwards again. Samhal’s chest rose and fell like a bellows as he collected himself.

“Fucking Void, what did you do?”

“A small thing. A spell learned in my youth. Shall I continue, then?”

“Fuck yes.”

Solas ran the fingers of his enchanted hand over Samhal’s skin for a few more passes, each time brushing higher and higher along his thighs until at last he wrapped his unenchanted hand under one of Samhal’s thighs and brought it up to rest over his elbow. Reaching for the pot, he coated his fingers and then set it aside again. Samhal raised his other leg, offering himself, and Solas, tamping the spell back to a light tingle, circled his fingers over puckered flesh for only a moment before slipping one of them inside. Samhal bit his lip against a groan, pushing down onto the finger eagerly. After a moment, Solas slid another slicked finger in, crooking both and making Samhal writhe against his hand, while the other hand stroked up and down Samhal’s thigh. At unexpected intervals the burst of wild sensation spread from those fingers through Samhal’s pelvis, and he jerked and clutched at the blankets, gasping for breath afterwards.

“I’m not….haahh…some blushing virgin, you know. You needn’t be so…patient.”

Solas chuckled briefly. “Yes, you are lovely and pliant. But perhaps _you_ need to learn some patience. Were you always so hasty?”

“Only…when I’ve hardly gotten fucked…in ages.”

“I could make you writhe under me for days. But I suppose we do not have days.” He reached to the pot with his free hand, smoothing slick over himself. Samhal canted his hips up hungrily, breath quickening in anticipation, and Solas eased out his fingers and guided himself in, pushing steadily, watching Samhal’s face until he was buried to the base. Only the harsh lines of Solas’ cheek and jaw betrayed the struggle for control as he slid into the tight heat of Samhal’s body. 

When he did not move immediately, Samhal whined with frustration, circling his hips impatiently. Solas tightened his grip on Samhal’s hip, and, catching his other leg as well, he bent forward until he was eye to eye with the smaller man, covering and filling him.

“This is what you wanted?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes.” Solas pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in hard, knocking another breathless “yes” out of Samhal and then another. A quick finger across his mouth reminded the younger man of thin canvas walls and wakeful scouts, and he bit his lip to muffle a steady stream of small noises. Brown hands skittered over Solas’ ribs, grasping for leverage to rock against, and Samhal’s back arched as he strained towards the occasional friction of Solas’ stomach against his cock. Smiling briefly, Solas shifted his grip, slipping one hand under Samhal to lift him up and change the angle. On the next thrust, Samhal’s breath stuttered out harshly, and his head pressed back, mouth open wide. His skin began to glow with a fine sheen of sweat where the moonlight cut across it. Solas’ pace continued steadily for a while, and the smaller man panted brokenly with each thrust, but then Solas stilled, smiling down at Samhal.

“The reality does exceed my imaginings. But I believe we owe each other one last image?” He pulled out gently, and nudged Samhal’s leg over to roll the man. “On your knees, if you will.” 

Samhal whined at the sudden emptiness, but went over willingly, sliding his shorter legs between Solas’ knees. Solas soothed one hand over Samhal’s back as he pushed back into his waiting, eager body and picked his relentless rhythm back up. After a minute, Samhal began to tremble and pushed back onto Solas more and more needily. Solas growled low in his throat and fisted his hand in Samhal’s hair, pulling hard to bring the other man up, running his other hand under Samhal’s chest to encourage him into kneeling. As his hips rocked into Samhal in short, hard thrusts, one hand stayed in his hair and the other wandered across his chest, pausing to shoot sparks of sensation into the little nubs of his nipples. Samhal bit his lip viciously to contain the whines that wanted to spill out, his breath harsh in his nose. Solas’ thrusts sped up, becoming less and less measured, rougher and more demanding, until suddenly the hand in Samhal’s hair snaked down to clamp over full lips, denting hard into his jaw, and the other hand gripped Samhal’s leaking cock firmly. Samhal’s eyes flew wide, unseeing in the dark.

“However many lovers you have in years to come, Little Fox, your body will always remember me.” Solas growled the words into Samhal’s ear. “It has been _mine_ , and will not forget.” 

Just as his hand flared with maddening sensation along Samhal’s length, he bent and sank his teeth hard into the juncture between neck and shoulder. Samhal convulsed and came, body pinned and transfixed, scream muffled in Solas’ hand. Solas slammed into him one, two, three more times and then a stuttering shudder ran through his body as he finally let his pleasure crest and break over him. He came silently, mouth filled with the salt of Samhal’s skin.

After a moment, he released his grip on Samhal’s mouth. The smaller man sucked air frantically, legs trembling in the aftermath, and Solas turned him gently as he lowered him to the blankets. Quietly he flicked open his pack and pulled out the soft rag he used to dry after bathing. He gently cleaned up Samhal and the blankets before tending to himself, and then manipulated the limp, yielding elf until he was warmly tucked in before returning to his own bedroll.

For a little while the only sound was labored breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Was that adequate, lethallin? Are you consumed to your satisfaction?”

Samhal’s rich groan was a sound of utter repletion. “Yes, _hahren_ , you have schooled me entirely.”

Solas chuckled and adjusted the coat that served as his pillow.

“But you _will_ teach me that trick with the hand, right?”

That provoked an unexpectedly youthful laugh. “Perhaps. If you illustrate the needed control and precision in our combat lessons.”

With an indistinct grumble, Samhal rolled onto his side and promptly fell asleep. Solas lay awake for longer, watching shadows dance and shift across the canvas, wondering what he had done.


End file.
